“I think I should hit the buffet first,” she says. “Who knows what I’ll say if I have more wine on an empty stomach, and they have the best honey-glazed spare ribs.”
“That sounds incredible.” My stomach rumbles and she grins, nodding her head toward the other side of the tent.
“Come on. I’ll show you where they put the good stuff.” She leads the way off the dance floor. At the edge, I recapture her hand, loving the way she glances over her shoulder, a warm flash in her eyes that makes me think she likes my touch as much as I like touching her.
Thank God we’re not alone, or I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my hands in “professional date” places much longer.
My orientation paperwork had an entire section on how to handle myself in the event I was tempted to behave inappropriately with a client, but I skimmed over that part, assuming I’d never have that problem. Now I’m cursing my arrogance and rethinking the wisdom of another glass of wine.
I should be building my resistance to this woman, not hacking away at it sip by sip. Kiss by kiss…
“Tell me something awful about yourself.” I collect a plate and join Maggie at a hot bar that’s giving off heavenly smells. “Flaws. I want to hear them.”
She cuts a narrow glance my way as she loads a sexily generous number of spare ribs on her plate. “Why?”
“There has to be something wrong with you.”
“Well, I’m an old maid who never dates,” she murmurs, her brows furrowing as she adds, “How old are you, anyway?”
“Twenty-nine,” I say, telling the truth without hesitation. I don’t want to lie to her.
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yeah, but I look older. Years of working out in the sun without sunscreen and staying up until three in the morning playing guitar in dive bars.”
“I couldn’t do either one,” she says, reaching for the sweet potato spoon, proving she’s a girl after my own heart. “I blister in the sun and turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”
“Yeah, I’m over the struggling artist gig. My long-term goal is to get a job teaching music at one of the schools in the city and play weddings and bar mitzvahs on the weekends.”
“So you didn’t come to the city to be famous? Make it big as a rock star?”
“Nah, that’s my little brother’s dream. I moved here to keep an eye on him, and for a change of pace.” I sigh. “I stupidly thought it would be easy to get a teaching job. I graduated with honors and was kind of a big deal music-wise growing up. Won lots of awards and played Carnegie Hall when I was twelve.”
“Wow. Good for you. That’s awesome.”
I laugh. “Thanks, but so far none of the people hiring music teachers seem very impressed.”
“Well, hang in there and keep trying. It’s hard to impress people in New York, but sooner or later, someone is going to wake up and realize they don’t want to let a treasure slip through their fingers.”
“You haven’t heard me play,” I tease. “I could suck butt.”
“You don’t suck butt.”
“How do you know?”
She stops in front of an empty table, meeting my gaze head on. “I’ve got a solid gut when it comes to things like that. I know a good egg when I meet one.”
“Thanks.” I’m on the verge of returning the compliment when a tiny blonde with a frighteningly flawless Barbie doll face appears beside our table and coos, “Maggie, sweetheart! Color me fifty shades of surprised. You did bring a date! Oh, and he’s adorable!” The squeaky blonde extends a tiny hand my way. “Stephanie Pinkerton. Organizer. Fundraiser. Maggie-fan from way back. And you are?”
So this is the mean girl in charge.
I glance Maggie’s way to see her shrinking in her seat and vow to deliver a perfect ten on the fake date performance scale.
With my most charming smile in place, I take Stephanie’s hand, giving it a squeeze before releasing her too-soft palm. “I’m Zach, but my friends call me Coop. Nice to meet you, Stephanie.”
“Likewise.” She winks at Maggie as she sidles closer and adds in a softer voice, “Now tell me everything, Coop. How did you meet our Maggie? How long have you two been dating? I need the entire story. You’re aware that a woman over forty is more likely to be hit by a bus than meet a hot younger man, right?” She laughs. Meanly. “Seriously, Maggie is pulling off the impossible here, and I just have to know how our little country mouse landed a cutie like you.”
“I was raised on the Upper East Side, Stephanie,” Maggie says in a kinder tone than this Barbie monster deserves. “And I’m not forty yet.”
Stephanie waves a breezy hand. “Oh, but you’re close enough, honey. And when you wear overalls to work, you’re country by default.” She giggles again, leaning in until her breast presses against my arm. “So you like a woman who works with her hands, Coop? I think that’s lovely. So many of our friends are baffled by Maggie’s life choices. But then most of the people we know hire help to change their light bulbs. The thought of actually getting down in the dirt and scrubbing someone else’s filthy toilet gives them heart palpitations.” She shudders and presses even closer, until she’s practically in my lap as she adds, “But it’s amazing that you can see past that to the sweetheart inside. Maggie’s been alone so long, we were beginning to worry she’d stay that way forever.”